


Specifically not thinking of you

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Closeted Dean, Dean in Denial, Dean in Panties, Deansturbation, Dildos, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sad Dean, but he doesn't want sam to find his dildos, but he's cool with people finding out, but it comes off as him being in the closet, but like not actually in the closet, he just doesn't talk about it, he's coming out of the closet like ten minutes after the story ends ok, idk alright, like he realizes there are some things you don't need to know about your big brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has problems and he solves them by putting things in his butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Specifically not thinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> thank you @yourefreckledjesus for betaing you are great

Dean sighed, slipping his hand down the smooth curve of his stomach. He wasn’t too worried about his recent weight gain since he could still outrun most other hunters, and he truthfully liked being a little bit soft. It made him feel delicate. Like something to be treasured.  
Which, he figured, was why he preferred to wear panties underneath his boxers. Sure, he would rather wear them by their lonesome, but grave digging, squatting to collect evidence, and running around after ghosts and the like tended to make his pants fall down to the “low rise” position belts were supposed to prevent. Anyone seeing that one private part of his life was terrifying.  
So now, while Sammy was out at the bar, Dean was at the motel. He had been sneaky, though. He had made sure to leave at the same time as an attractive woman that he pretended was his “type.” He didn’t really have a type, though, and tonight he wasn’t really as interested in redheads that were slightly taller than he was even without six-inch stilettos. Don’t get him wrong, the girl was probably great, but tonight he was looking for something...gentler.  
He idly scratched at his stomach, near enough to the band of his pants that he could feel the fine, soft hairs. Dean considered shaving this to make himself smooth and silky even there, but if there were an emergency there would be too many questions about that even considering the amount about his non-traditional choices in undergarments. He had taken his shirt off a while ago - as soon as he got in the room. Now he shucked off his jeans and respectable, manly, constricting, annoying boxers to reveal a bright neon yellow thong with gray zebra-stripe print. No frills, no lace. Two dollars at a superstore. Practical but barely containing Dean’s cock despite him being completely soft. In the store there had been a strappier pair the same color with owls printed on them, but they were two sizes too large. Dean thought of how easy he must look right now in his “fuck me” panties, the kind some strippers would probably balk at. He thought of someone, anyone, walking in right then and felt himself stiffen in response.  
He started out slow. The generic leggy blonde fantasy always got him riled up. She would walk in, perfect plump red lips and styled hair, and bashfully flutter her lashes at the sight of a grown man in women’s underwear, and then probably turn away in disgust. Well. That was fun until it wasn’t. Dean wanted someone who would realize that the panties weren’t necessarily a sexual thing, just something to make him feel pretty.  
Maybe it would be better to not think of an entire person right now. Maybe...eyes. Dean could do eyes. Eyes were safe. Bright blue and full of devotion, maybe lust? Beautiful. Dean palmed his cock gently through the cotton material, picturing a gentle mouth hovering over his. So close he could taste it, yet far enough out of reach to tantalize.  
A nice, long neck. He would mark that up so well, even as he was dominated and just held by this person. Oh, and women could rarely get that right. That much, he could admit to himself, if not other things. He wasn’t gay, not by a long shot. But still, there was the allure of someone stronger, rougher. Someone who could protect him. Make him feel safe. Loved. Wanted. Worth something.  
The person in his fantasy had morphed slightly. Long hair shrank and darkened. Now there were broad shoulders, slim hips. Strong thighs and arms. Dean wanted to be able to just give control of himself over for a time. Have someone else take charge for a bit.  
He moved his left hand under the front of the thong, now without a shred of hope of containing him at all, but it was still nice to feel the soft band against his wrist. He sped up his stroking a bit at the thought of someone strong wrapping him in their arms, blacking out the world and letting him just be.  
At the increased pace, the string in the back started rubbing his cleft. It felt kind of...nice? What had started as a lazy fantasy was quickly becoming the dirtiest, most desperate train of thought Dean had ever allowed himself to entertain, the sensations spurring on thoughts of a strong body pinning him to the mattress, teasing, making him thirst for more.  
He was glad that he had indulged himself with a bottle of astroglide last Saturday. Tearing did not sound like a pleasant thought, no matter how much he may have enjoyed the pressure.   
He coated four fingers on his right hand, slightly disappointed in the fact he had to stop stroking himself to do that. He lay on his left side and started back to what he had been doing before, but this time reached around behind his cock with his right hand, slipped the little strap of fabric in the back to the side, and pushed his middle finger in to the first knuckle, just getting a sense of the holyfuckthat’snice pressure he was seeking. After a few moments, he pushed farther in, eventually getting to the hilt of that finger, but it didn’t exactly feel as full as he knew it could be. He pulled out far enough that he could add another finger, angling his hand just so, completely aware of the fact that he was probably moaning like a virgin. He decided to be more discrete and muffled himself by rolling over and closing his mouth around a pillow.  
With his face in the pillow, Dean’s thoughts condensed themselves even better, using the situation he had put himself in as fodder for his fantasies. His former general urge to be dominated now was fed by the feeling of limited air supply from gently covering his nose and mouth, not dangerous enough to kill but limited enough to thrill. He knew he was wanton like this, ass on display. He didn’t expect tonight to go like this; generally he would have had the itch for that for at least a week before he was desperate enough to even think about acting on it. He pulled his fingers out of himself and gingerly climbed out of the bed, getting his favorite silicon friend out of the same secret compartment in his duffle bag that he kept his panty stash in, wrapped in its own special fabric baggy so it wouldn’t melt to any of the others.  
There was no doubt about it, tonight was one of those increasingly common nights. Dean wanted to be fucked. Hard. To lose total control at the hands of someone he maybe trusted, probably shouldn’t. To a person stronger than him, with more authority. He wouldn’t think about exactly which person he ended up thinking about ninety percent of the time, or whether or not they could technically be called a person at all since it was still his job to kill people that weren’t people. He wouldn’t think about that. This was for him.  
But, God, those eyes. If this was blasphemy he wouldn’t care. So long as no one knew, he could keep his irreverent thoughts and emotions to himself. So long as he didn’t accidentally pray. Don’t think of a name. The face could be a coincidence. Don’t say any actual words out loud. He might accidentally slip up.  
Dean supposed it was unhealthy to have so many secrets he was ashamed of. He would care about that later.  
Dean kept going, grinding hard against his prostate with the toy and stroking himself in a way that would normally have him whining as he approached release, but tonight something was different. He was crying now, thinking about what he knew couldn’t be. He imagined he heard words being whispered by a gruff voice, felt the ghost of a warm hand stroking his back and saying he was “beautiful, so beautiful for me, Dean, just like that.”  
Dean’s back arched as he came, dangerously close to screaming the name he wouldn’t admit to anyone but himself was on his tongue.   
When he came back to himself, Castiel was sitting beside him on the bed, petting from his hair down to the small of his back like he was actually worth something. Dean figured they needed to talk about some things. He wanted to.


End file.
